


Tell Me What You Hate About Me (Whatever It Is I'm Sorry)

by geralt_of_rivia



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Geralt just has to make sure everyone knows, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealousy, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Resolved Romantic Tension, Sorry Not Sorry, mention of other witchers, precious jaskier, that Jaskier is not up for grabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralt_of_rivia/pseuds/geralt_of_rivia
Summary: Jaskier simply plucked his bag off of where it was draped over Roach, “Well I guess you can head on Geralt and I’ll catch up. I want to ask these kind Witchers a thing or two.”Which, absolutely not. Geralt was not just going to up and leave Jaskier with the other Witchers. There was a limited few that Geralt entrusted the safety of his- the bard to.“No.”Jaskier snorted at him as he adjusted the strap of his lute case, “I know you’ve been getting annoyed with me this whole trip, this’ll give you a break and maybe give me more inspiration for a new song.”“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed, but the man only waltzed willingly over to the other two Witchers. He was far too trusting for Geralt’s liking. “Fuck.”orThe fic where Geralt isnotjealous. Not at all. Except he is jealous, and he's forced to realize a thing or two about his tag-along bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 3065





	Tell Me What You Hate About Me (Whatever It Is I'm Sorry)

Geralt had always travelled alone, before Jaskier. Roach was his only companion, and that’s how he preferred it. He preferred minimum socialization, or a conversation companion that merely snorted or nickered rather than prattle on for hours on end. And then along came the bard. Geralt’s peaceful travels became filled with mindless chatter and lute plucking. 

And yet he couldn’t seem to shake the man. A punch to the gut nor simple “please get the fuck away from me” seemed to work on Jaskier - which is how Geralt found himself stuck with the man -  _ had  _ been stuck with the bard for well over a year. Granted, Jaskier did become slightly useful. Geralt had someone else to help carry his things, and the bard brought in a fair amount of coin with his ridiculous songs, coin that he was always willing to share with Geralt. 

So, Geralt stopped trying to rid himself of the bard. Jaskier would flounce off often enough after a man or woman caught his fancy that there would be minor breaks in having his company. But, after a week or two, Jaskier would most generally find his way back to Geralt. And Geralt most certainly did not seek out Jaskier if he was absent for too long just to ensure the man wasn’t fucking some nobleman’s daughter and getting himself lynched. 

And then there came a particularly rough contract, one that Geralt had insisted Jaskier stay behind on. Jaskier, of course, tagged along anyway and the men travelled far out into the ruins of Rannvaig in search for a Morvudd. They had been on the hunt for nearly a month with little to no lead, and it had Geralt beginning to think he’d been lied to. 

“Maybe you should let me lead the way for once,” Jaskier mumbled moodily. “You always tell me that I attract trouble.” 

The man was trailing behind Geralt, who was leading Roach rather than riding her. The horse was just as irritated with the situation as Jaskier seemed. Both the horse and the bard preferred a far more pampered lifestyle than they were receiving. 

“If the Morvudd was going to find you and kill you, it would have done so last night when you wouldn’t stop writing sonnets about fucking  _ steak _ ,” Geralt grumbled. “But by all means, be our bait.” 

“Well excuse me for trying to soothe my cravings through song.”

Jaskier tried to march off with an air of dramatics, but Geralt simply brought Roach to a halt and hauled Jaskier back by the shirt sleeve. The ruins weren’t precisely welcoming. It was rough walking, brush and brambles were everywhere, and Geralt was certain that he hadn’t seen the sun since he had taken up the contract. Thus, he wasn’t actually about to let Jaskier wander out alone into them. 

“Just- try to stay quiet for the next hour and maybe we’ll set up camp for the night,” Geralt demanded gruffly. “If your stomach grumbles any louder it’s going to ward off any sort of creature that’ll bring us in coin.” 

The bard tried, and failed, to pry Geralt’s fingers free of his shirt sleeve, “Not all of us have a Witcher’s metabolism, humans need to be  _ fed _ , Geralt.”

Geralt was going to snark back, but Roach suddenly tugged at her tie and stomped her hooves nervously. For a moment, Geralt thought she was simply impatient with their bickering, but a prickling at the back of his neck had Geralt’s senses dialing up to 10. 

“You haven’t been feeding such an adorable human?” a gruff voice asked from behind them. 

Jaskier gave a yelp of surprise, wielding the lute he always carried on his shoulder out in front of him as he stumbled around to face whoever had snuck up on them. Geralt perhaps had been distracted by the bard, but he was always listening to his surroundings. He certainly should not have been snuck up on so easily. Thus, he had his sword unsheathed and up against the throat of the newcomer nearly before realizing there was not one, but two people who had been trailing behind them. 

“Hey!” the second man protested. Geralt’s amber eyes narrowed on the two men before him, and the moment he recognized them he lowered his sword. However, he still tugged a spluttering Jaskier behind him. 

“Gascaden. Berengar.” 

“Geralt, you know them?” Jaskier hissed. “They look like they want to eat us for dinner- and they- their eyes?”

“It’s been awhile, my friend,” Gascaden, a slimmer man with blonde hair and golden eyes gave a toothy grin. 

“I don’t think I’ve crossed paths with you since Black Tern,” Berengar, far burlier of the two with a shaved head, but the same familiar golden eyes, attempted to step and peer around Geralt at the bard peeking around his shoulder. 

“I’ve a contract,” Geralt murmured. “They sent me out to slay a Morvudd, but it seems any sort of creature is no longer in the area.” 

“Aye, we beheaded that beast nearly four months back,” Gascaden replied. “Whoever sent you out must have been tryna rid themselves of ye.” 

Jaskier stepped around Geralt at that, his own hand landing on the dagger Geralt had made him keep on his waist, “What do you mean? Who was trying to _get_ _rid_ of him? I’m no swordsman, but if you’re threatening my friend here I’ll use you for target practice.” 

“Stay silent for once,” Geralt hissed, attempting to tug Jaskier back behind him. Of course Jaskier, who looked about as threatening as a wet kitten, was attempting to defend him. And Jaskier could be rather wicked with the dagger, as he fought nasty with wit and trick rather than skill, but he would still be no match for their company. The two men were, in fact, men that were… acquaintances. Jaskier wasn’t in immediate danger, but something about the thought of Gascaden and Berengar poking around into Jaskier’s business had Geralt on edge. 

“What a feisty little thing!” Berengar boomed out. “It takes balls to threaten two Witchers, boy.” 

Geralt could hear the acceleration in Jaskier’s heart, felt Jaskier seize Geralt’s elbow as the bard mumbled, “Geralt- a word, if you will? Excuse us, gentlemen.” 

“Of course,” Berengar replied. 

Jaskier tugged at Geralt until he begrudgingly stepped behind Roach with the man, using the mare’s head to hide just out of sight from the other two men. Jaskier’s blue eyes were slightly wild as he shook Geralt’s shoulder, “Witchers? Beefy guy said  _ Witchers _ , I thought people said that those were dead or dying out? Geralt are they going to try some shit with you because-”

Geralt sighed, looking at Roach in exasperation before shaking his head, “No more Witchers are being created, but there are others aside from me. I was in training with Gascaden and I met Berengar on a hunt.” 

Jaskier peered over Roach’s neck at the men, “They seem chattier than you, it’s freaking me out. Are they going to try to kill us?”

“We’re not going to try to kill you,” Gascaden answered before Geralt could, and Jaskier hissed in alarm. 

“Damn… Witcher ears.” 

Geralt snorted at the bard, leaving him slightly protected behind Roach as he moved back toward the men. So they’d killed his contracted monster. It wasn’t a problem. He wouldn’t be receiving any coin, but it meant that he could finally move on and perhaps make their way back into town to get Jaskier better food than molded bread and squirrel stew. 

“Thank you for the information on the Morvudd. Knowing of its demise means we can finally move on to the next contract,” the plan was to keep it short and simple, leave little room for further conversation so that they could all go their separate ways. But of course. 

“We, you say?” Berengar pursed his lips. “So the feisty little human you have accompanies you often?”

Jaskier came out from behind Roach at that, “Ever heard of  _ Toss A Coin To Your Witcher _ ?”

Berengar’s eyebrows shot up, “You’re the bard.”

It wasn’t a question, and Geralt was very much done with the unwelcomed meeting. They were asking far too many questions and looking at Jaskier in a way that made the hair on Geralt’s neck stand on end. 

“The one and only, humble as ever,” Jaskier bowed charmfully. “I must admit, I never thought I’d come across another Witcher that wasn’t this emotionally stunted lug here. It’s got me curious as to just how unique he is.” 

“Set up camp with us for the night,” Gascaden offered. “I’d be more than willing to chat and fill you in on all you’d want to know.” 

“Deal.” 

Jaskier had announced just as Geralt had given a gruff, “We’ll have to pass you up on that.” 

However, Jaskier simply plucked his bag off of where it was draped over Roach, “Well I guess you can head on Geralt and I’ll catch up. I want to ask these kind Witchers a thing or two.” 

Which,  _ absolutely _ not. Geralt was  _ not _ just going to up and leave Jaskier with the other Witchers. There was a limited few that Geralt entrusted the safety of his-  _ the  _ bard to. 

“No.”

Jaskier snorted at him as he adjusted the strap of his lute case, “I know you’ve been getting annoyed with me this whole trip, this’ll give you a break and maybe give me more inspiration for a new song.” 

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt hissed, but the man only waltzed willingly over to the other two Witchers. He was far too trusting for Geralt’s liking. “Fuck.” 

And that is how Geralt ended up sulking on a stump around a warm fire, listening to Jaskier ramble question after question to Gascaden and Berengar. Jaskier was seated near Berengar, and it seemed to Geralt like the man was far too… touchy-feely, with Jaskier. A hand on the bard’s shoulder, fingers brushing over the tiny scar on Jaskier’s forehead, patting Jaskier’s thigh. And Jaskier was of course oblivious to it all. Granted, the man had been downing quite a bit of the ale that Gascaden had supplied. 

“I must admit, you are far better at telling stories than ol Geralt over there,” Jaskier shot Geralt a wink. “I think he has a limited vocabulary at times.” 

Gascaden chuckled, “He was like that during the trials as well. Silent type. He’s talented though, I’ll give him that.” 

“Oh without a doubt,” Jaskier agreed. “He’s the best of the best in my eyes, I just mean he’s never one to chat with me. Granted, I’m most likely the bane of his existence, so I guess he has reason.” 

Geralt’s head snapped up at that, his brow furrowing. Jaskier was not the bane of his existence. Geralt wasn’t sure  _ what _ Jaskier was, but Geralt… didn’t mind having him around. While Geralt fought the emotional block in his mind for words to describe what Jaskier was to him, Berengar spoke up. 

“Well, Geralt, I’ll take him off your hands for you, then. I think I’d quite enjoy having a bard to sing about my travels and help me out on the road,” the burly man placed a hand under Jaskier’s chin, and Geralt’s stomach twisted in knots. 

“Unnecessary,” he hissed out, and he immediately noticed Jaskier scooting away from Berengar in discomfort. Blue eyes were wide and unsure as they flickered to Geralt, finally realizing just how handsy Berengar was being. 

“No, I insist,” Berengar murmured. “I’d even pay- same amount of coin we got for killing the Morvudd.” 

Jaskier scrambled backward off the stump he had been sharing with the other Witcher just as Geralt rose to his feet and snarled, “He is not livestock or property meant to have  _ bets _ placed upon him. He is my friend and you are to treat him as an equal, not as a prize.” 

Berengar stood to his feet as well, his hand settling on the sword slung onto his shoulder. For a brief moment, Geralt felt  _ fear,  _ Jaskier was still too far away from him if Berengar wanted to harm him. Geralt wouldn’t be able to stop the man in time. However, Berengar unsheathed his sword and held it out between them. 

“I’ll duel you for him.” 

“Are you not listening?” Geralt unsheathed his sword regardless. “He’s not a  _ prize,  _ and if I have to remove your head to get that through your skull I’ll-“

Jaskier all but flung himself across the fire and over to Geralt, “No, don’t fight- good gods!” 

Still, he tried to shield Geralt with his smaller form, his hands held out placatingly. Typical Jaskier. Gascaden, who Geralt had always trusted just the slightest bit more, stepped up and nudged Berengar aside, “Forgive him, he evidently isn’t thinking clearly. We mean no harm toward your bard, Geralt.” 

“Sheath your sword,” Geralt simply grumbled, stepping around Jaskier to put himself between his friend and the now slight threat. 

“We, uh- let’s be on our way, shall we, Geralt? I suddenly have inspiration to write and walking always helps that. I don’t mind walking at night-” Jaskier was rambling as he always did when he was nervous. 

Geralt simply grumbled in agreement. Traveling after dark was dangerous, but it was looking far more promising than camping with Berengar. Geralt had no way of knowing that the Witcher wasn’t simply going to snatch Jaskier away during the night. 

“You can stay with me, lark,” Berengar gave a sickening smile at Jaskier. “You don’t have to go with him, he can’t pay you  _ that _ greatly.”

Geralt was plenty ready to run the man through with a sword, but Jaskier simply tilted his chin up, “He doesn’t pay me at all, but he’s my friend. He might smell like onion at times, but you smell like manure, I won’t lie. Geralt is the only Witcher I’d follow to the ends of the continents.”

And the whole rumor that Witchers didn’t feel was truly false, because Geralt felt… something bloom in his chest at Jaskier’s words. A warm feeling, soothing the irritation that had been bubbling under the surface. 

Geralt and Jaskier wasted little time leaving camp, pulling an extremely grumpy Roach back out away from the warm fire and into the night. They truly didn’t head far, just far enough that Geralt felt they would be safe if Berengar decided to come after Jaskier. Of course, he certainly wouldn’t be sleeping that night regardless. Jaskier kept him at ease for most of the way as the man chatted to Roach apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, girl, but you know us- we can find trouble anywhere, eh? I can’t be completely at fault this time, because we both know who got super grumpy there at the end and pulled out the sword, and it wasn’t Geralt for once.” 

They set up their own small fire after walking a good two hours, and Geralt loaned Jaskier the extra bedroll to make up for the rocky ground beneath them. However, Jaskier didn’t make use of the makeshift bed. Rather, he plopped himself down on the small rock Geralt had placed himself on near the fire. It was hardly big enough for Geralt to sit on, let alone both of them, but Jaskier pressed close. 

“You should sleep,” Geralt told him after a moment of the two sitting in the quiet. It was actually soothing, hearing the bard’s even breathing and steady heart. It was far louder to Geralt than the other night sounds around them, but he figured he had simply grown well attuned to it. 

“I figured I’d let you get all your grumps out first,” Jaskier murmured. “I’m… sorry.” 

Geralt frowned, turning to look at the smaller man beside him. He looked extra soft in the glow of the fire, “For what?” 

“A lot really, but mostly that you have to keep putting up with my dumbass,” Jaskier sighed. “From what the others were saying, this is the first time they’d seen each other in ten years. I guess Witchers really do work alone, eh?” 

“Hmm,” Geralt turned his gaze back onto the fire. “Most do, yes.” 

“So I guess when we make it back to the next town, I’ll… stop bothering you for a bit.” 

Jaskier had Geralt’s full attention once more. His teeth were gnawing at his lower lip, fingers picking at the fabric of his pants as he would a lute - his lute just happened to be over by Roach. But the bard looked… forlorn. Geralt could have agreed, could have gotten back the blessed silence be claimed to miss so much, but it was far too late for that. 

“Oh no, you are a  _ hassle _ to deal with,” Geralt said quietly. “You never stop talking, you don’t have an ounce of self preservation, and you’re incredibly clingy.” 

Jaskier’s frown deepened, and he tried to turn his head away from Geralt, “Okay, you don’t have to rub it  _ in _ , geez-”

Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, turning his head back around so that blue eyes met amber, “And of all things, I hate that I can no longer actually hate those things about you if I tried. I am… unspeakably fond of you, Jaskier. I want you with me.” 

And Geralt was nearly knocked backward off where he was perched on the rock as Jaskier, who seemed near tears, flung his arms around Geralt’s neck and crashed their lips together. However, the bard pulled back a few seconds later, “Ow, okay, I got too eager and I think I busted my lip but holy shit Geralt, you-”

“Hmm.” 

The white haired man only pulled Jaskier back in once more to kiss him quiet, enjoying the smooth lips and just the taste of… Jaskier. But, never one for silence, Jaskier pulled back to croak out, “You mean it? Holy fuck, it took you long enough, I wrote so many damn songs trying to profess my love for you and all it takes is another handsy Witcher to finally get the emotionally constipated Geralt of Rivia-”

“Shut up and  _ kiss _ me more, Jaskier.” 

And the bard did just that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this doesn't seem rushed - I just had to get it out and I'm sick and drugged up on cold medicine forgive me.


End file.
